


Find a Spark

by lustmordred



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Burning, Cigarettes, M/M, Masochism, Rimming, S&M, Sadism, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustmordred/pseuds/lustmordred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If I took this cigarette and put it out on you, would you love me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find a Spark

If I took this cigarette and put it out on you, would you love me?  
 _Acid Bath (Jezebel)_

 

Sam lay on his own bed with his head pillowed on his bent arm, watching Dean, who was watching David Letterman and pretending he didn’t notice.

Someone made a joke on the TV and Dean’s lips quirked in a cynical little smile around the filter of the cigarette he was smoking. As Sam watched, Dean drew on it and started to exhale through his nose as he took it out of his mouth. Sam watched Dean’s throat work, his nostrils flare, and then his brother tilted his head back and blew the rest of the smoke between his chapped, full lips at the ceiling.

There was no way in hell Dean didn’t know Sam was watching him.

Sam thought of running his tongue over Dean’s throat where he could see the tendon standing out, the blue light from the television making it all bright contrast of light and dark. He thought of licking Dean’s mouth, biting those obscenely feminine lips, and tasting nicotine on the back of his teeth. How shocked would Dean be? How hard would he struggle?

Would he fight at all?

“What?” Dean said, turning his head to look at Sam with raised brows.

Sam realized he’d said that last out loud and blinked back at him. He thought about it for a second, then shrugged and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Nothing,” he said. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean said.

Sam held out his hand, giving Dean’s cigarette an arch look. “May I?”

Dean looked at him in surprise and stared. “Sure, Sammy,” he said, and passed it to him. “What, you trying to prove you’re one of the big kids now?”

Sam snorted and took the cigarette from him. He put it in his mouth and got up from the bed to sit on one knee on the side of Dean’s. Dean tensed, but he didn’t get up and walk away or tell Sam to go back to his own bed.

As Sam studied him in the flickering light and took a deep drag on the cigarette, he half expected Dean to do one or the other of those things at any moment. It had been a while since they’d touched or really talked or, hell, even sat together on the same bed, so Dean’s confusion and mistrust was understandable. Maddening, but understandable.

Dean just sat there, watching Sam smoke the last of his cigarette down to the filter and didn’t say anything. When Sam reached over on the nightstand for the pack and the little purple Bic lighter, Dean’s expression became a mixture of amusement and confusion. Which only intensified when Sam took another cigarette from the pack, lit it and blew smoke at him.

“You suddenly decided to take up the habit or what, Sammy?” Dean said. He took his cigarettes and lighter from Sam and put them back on the nightstand, _then_ he started to stand up.

Sam hooked two fingers into the back of his pants and jerked him back down. Dean hit the bed with an indignant curse and bounced once. When he started to immediately get up again, thinking Sam was fooling around, Sam smacked a hand to his chest and shoved him back down on the bed.

“Stay,” Sam said. He flicked the cigarette, dropping ash on the worn motel room coverlet, and stared down at Dean. The word was a command, not a request and the way Dean narrowed his eyes at him said he knew it.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you?” Dean demanded. He snatched the cigarette out of Sam’s hand and put it in his own mouth. “You don’t smoke… You’re not possessed or something, huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes and shifted on the bed, moving up until he was sitting on his knees beside Dean, his thigh resting warmly against Dean’s hip. “That’s kinda really impossible,” Sam said.

“Yeah, right,” Dean said, blinking up at him through the smoke trailing from his hand. “We didn’t get these stupid matching tats for shits and giggles. Alright, so what gives?”

Sam took the cigarette back from him and leaned over him, resting his elbow on his thigh as he held Dean’s gaze thoughtfully. After a minute of hesitation, which he chalked up to the nervous way Dean was watching him, Sam leaned over and brushed his mouth over Dean’s. “Dean?”

Dean swallowed and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?” Sam whispered. He was half afraid to ask it because these days he really wasn’t sure he knew the answer. Or… he knew that it wasn’t absolute. Not anymore.

Dean lay tense on the bed and studied him, his thoughts racing, weighing his answer and considering the question and what exactly Sam’s angle was. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I… why? FYI, dude, you are kinda freaking me out.”

Sam chuckled low in his throat and nudged Dean’s cheek playfully with his nose. “Let me?”

Dean started to ask him what, then didn’t. He turned his head and caught Sam’s mouth, shoving against him when he did in a hard kiss. Sam rocked back slightly from it, unprepared, then pushed back and licked into Dean’s mouth with a growl. Dean’s breath caught in his chest, hitched over Sam’s tongue, and Sam almost forgot the burning cigarette in his hand as he started to slide his fingers up the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean turned his head away to break the kiss and shifted, pushing Sam’s arm away as he started to sit up. Sam made a frustrated sound of want and disappointment, but Dean sidled over to him and leaned in to kiss him again, quick, nipping kisses. Teasing kisses.

It had been months since Sam had touched him. Longer still since Dean had kissed him, even quickly like that. Even in play. _Especially_ in play. Sam leaned into those kisses instantly, starved for them. For _anything_ Dean would give him.

“Dean,” Sam said breathlessly.

Dean shifted to throw one leg over Sam’s, practically straddling him on the edge of the mattress. “What?” he asked.

“Can I…” Sam huffed out a breath and reached over to crush the neglected cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Let me,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around Dean and moving to lay him down on the bed. “Touch… yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the general idea,” Dean said, panting out a laugh as he ran his hands up Sam’s chest to grip his shoulders.

Sam ducked his head and grazed his teeth up the line of Dean’s throat, sliding his tongue over that tendon he’d been thinking about licking earlier. “Okay,” he said, and lightly bit Dean’s jaw.

He grabbed Dean’s hips and suddenly flipped him over onto his stomach. Dean made a startled sound and started to sit back up, but Sam put his hand against the small of his back and held him. “Shh… let me,” he whispered.

It was part command and part plea and Dean responded to it by gradually relaxing back on the bed. He wanted to ask Sam _what?_ , let him _what?_ But then that was part of the trust Sam needed proof of, wasn’t it? So he didn’t ask.

When Sam moved to sit astride his back, Dean folded his hands beneath his chin and sighed, letting the tension leak out of him, hoping like hell he wasn’t going to regret it.

Sam ran his hands down Dean’s sides, cupped his waist and lightly moved his fingers into the dimpled spaces by his hips. When he leaned down and licked the back of Dean’s neck, over the slight bump of vertebra below his skull, Dean shivered. Without lifting his mouth away, Sam reached over on the nightstand and fumbled for another cigarette.

Dean tensed and tried to lift his head, but Sam nipped him, setting his teeth over the place he’d been licking. “Stay,” he said.

“Sam, what…? Okay, man, look, I’m willing to put up with a lot of weird shit. God knows, you’ve never been real normal,” Dean said, turning his head to the side to look at Sam over his shoulder. “But this… is weird even for you. Hell, I _know_ you don’t smoke, and what’s that? Your _third_ cigarette now in less than an hour?”

Sam lit his cigarette, then held it out to study the glowing tip. “Not going to smoke it,” Sam said. He eyed Dean over the burning cherry, his lips slowly curving in a wicked smile, then leaned back over him to nuzzle behind Dean’s ear. “Dean?”

“What?” Dean asked. He was tense again and shaking, the smoke slithering from the tip of Sam’s cigarette setting off instinctive alarm bells in his head that he was finding really hard to ignore.

Sam ran his hand into the dip between Dean’s shoulder blades and let himself slump down on Dean’s back, pressing him into the mattress. He moved his hand in that petting, almost soothing way, and felt some of the tension start to slip out of Dean’s body again. “Dean?” he repeated, softly whispering it against the back of his ear.

“ _What?_ ” Dean said, growling it through his teeth this time. Sam was making him nervous. “What? Just _ask_ me, what is it?”

Sam chuffed out a sound of soft amusement and licked Dean’s earlobe. “Nothing, just… don’t scream.”

Dean jerked when he felt the heat of the cigarette tip against his skin, but he did _not_ scream. It hurt, but only a little. It was a burn, though, which always hurt more. Dean didn’t know why, but they did. But this little bitty burn was nothing. He’d endured worse for a lot less reason over the years.

It _was_ a surprise though, and he thought maybe it shouldn’t have been with how strange Sam was being, but it still caught him off guard. “Jesus, Sammy, I always knew you were kinky, but…”

Sam grinned and rolled the cigarette along the slope of Dean’s back, between his shoulders. Dean’s skin visibly twitched and Sam watched it as little lines of burned welts rose on Dean’s pale flesh along the path of the cigarette. Sam took the cigarette away and put it in his mouth, dragging deeply on it as he watched Dean shiver. The ember hissed as he inhaled, some of Dean’s skin caught in the ashes.

“Sam…” Dean started to push himself up, but Sam just shifted on his back and he sank back down. “Let me up.”

“In a minute,” Sam said. He rolled his hips, lightly grinding against Dean’s ass, and Dean caught his breath. “Do you like it?” Sam whispered.

“Do I…? No, Sam, I…” Dean broke off with a curse as Sam lay the cigarette on it’s side between his shoulders again and rolled it.

Sam kept rolling it along his skin with one hand while with the other, he ran his fingers down Dean’s side, over his hip. He worked his hand beneath Dean’s body, slid it under the waistband of the sweats he was wearing to sleep in, and wrapped his hand around Dean’s dick. It was hard in his hand and Sam grinned and nipped Dean’s shoulder as he squeezed it.

Dean moaned and pushed his face into his pillow.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. He blew on the tip of the cigarette, making it flare against Dean’s skin. Dean’s breath hitched and he pressed his hips into the mattress, his cock sliding through Sam’s fingers. “You know what I think?” Sam said.

Dean turned his face on the pillow to breathe, panting, and shook his head.

“I think maybe even if you _don’t_ like it, I could make you like it,” Sam said. He slowly started to move his hand on Dean’s cock, not quite jerking him off because of how deep into the mattress he was, but fondling him in a way that Dean obviously liked.

“Sam… shit,” Dean hissed. He shuddered and tried to roll onto his side, but Sam’s weight held him down. “Get rid of the cigarette,” he panted. “Let me up.”

Sam lowered his head and licked Dean’s mouth, then moved sucking little kisses along his jaw to his ear. “Let me put it out on you,” he whispered, darting his tongue into the shell of Dean’s ear.

Dean’s eyes closed, long lashes fluttering, throat working. He rocked his hips, pushing his ass up against Sam, and nodded. “Fuck, yes,” he said.

His voice was like sand and whiskey and it sent a bolt of pure want right through Sam’s belly. He wondered, vaguely, if Dean really _wanted_ it or if he thought Sam putting it out on him was just the quickest way to make him stop. He looked down at the smooth expanse of Dean’s shoulders and thought how beautiful his back was, how it would almost be a crime to mar it so. Then he thought of that pale, perfect back carrying a mark that he’d put there and he didn’t feel so bad about it.

Sam sat back and considered it, running his eyes over Dean’s body thoughtfully. His gaze settled on the tender scar of Castiel’s handprint and he curled his lip back in annoyance. When Dean trembled under him and squirmed on the bed, Sam felt marginally better and allowed his eyes to travel lower.

“Sam… do it,” Dean whispered. He shifted on the bed to prop himself up on one elbow now that Sam wasn’t holding him down flat, and looked at him over his shoulder. “If you’re going to do it, then do it. Goddamn, hurry up, though, huh?”

Sam smiled a little and leaned over him to brush his lips over Dean’s. “Patience,” he said, “is a virtue.”

Then he crushed the cigarette out on the back of Dean’s right hip. Dean bucked beneath him and opened his mouth to scream, but Sam was there to shove his mouth to Dean’s and thrust his tongue inside. His scream died as a moan that vibrated over their tongues as Dean kissed him back. It was a distraction from the pain, but it didn’t extinguish it in the least and the pain was _excruciating_.

Breaking the kiss, Dean panted and dropped his head between his shoulders, skin twitching like that of a fly-bit horse. When Sam took the cigarette away and flicked it aside, then rubbed the pad of his thumb into the new burn, Dean cried out, but he didn’t push Sam off or yell at him to stop. Or call him a freak.

Sam noticed all of this and slid down on the bed to run his tongue into the burn, wondering just how far this new acceptance of Dean’s really went. Deep down, Dean was pretty vanilla when it came to sex, always had been. He was good at it, though, just… uncreative. Although, Sam was creative enough for the both of them and he’d been fucking Dean on and off for about half his life, so he would have thought Dean had picked up a few things. Hell, maybe he had. After all, he was still laying there on the bed right now, wasn’t he?

Yes he was. He was laying there shuddering as Sam laved the wound with his tongue, and the sounds he made were pained, but that wasn’t _all_ they were either. And every single one of those sounds was going straight to Sam’s cock.

Sam crawled backward off of Dean and grabbed his waist, trying to shove him up on the bed without putting his hand over the burn. When Dean didn’t get the hint and lift himself, though, Sam seized his hips and pushed him up. The salt of his skin on that new, sticky burn made Dean tense and fist his hands in the covers, but he didn’t scream.

He was being so good about that. The thought made Sam smile, but it also made him, perversely, want to see how much Dean could take before it didn’t matter.

“Sam, what the… oh, god,” he muttered.

Sam ran his tongue into one of the dimples above Dean’s ass, then trailed his tongue down to lick over the base of his spine and into the crack of his ass as he pulled Dean‘s sweatpants down his thighs. Dean stilled, tensing slightly, then relaxed with a soft, breathy laugh.

“You’re not serious,” Dean said.

Sam flicked his tongue once, then slid down on the bed to prop himself up on his elbows. “Hold still,” he said.

“Sam… Sammy, there’s a tube of lube in my duffel, don’t you dare stick your tongue-- _Christ_ ,” Dean hissed.

Sam ran his thumbs along the crack of Dean’s ass, then pressed them inside, spreading the cheeks of his ass apart. He ran the tip of one thumb over the tight ring of his hole, felt Dean start to pull away, and dug his fingers into his ass to hold him there.

“I said _be still_ ,” Sam said.

“Uh huh… I heard you,” Dean said. He huffed out a breath and lowered himself on his elbows on the bed, trying really hard not to think about how that made him look; on the bed, knees and elbows, ass in the air with Sam’s face so close Dean could feel his breath on the back of his balls. “Sam… don’t.”

“You’ll like it,” Sam said. He ran his tongue out and licked between his thumbs. He felt Dean’s ass clench in his hands and against the tip of his tongue and sighed. “If you would fucking relax, you might like it,” he amended.

Yeah, it’s just… I am going to want to kiss you later and probably talk to you and I don’t know… I’d like to be able to do it without thinking about your tongue up my ass,” Dean said, speaking in a rush.

Sam made an amused sound in his throat and pressed his tongue against Dean’s asshole. Dean gasped and went still and Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Dean, shut up,” he said.

Dean started to say something else, but Sam worked the tip of his index finger inside him and hooked it over his prostate and whatever he was going to say was forgotten as pleasure spiked under his skin. Sam stroked his finger inside him, working it over that spot until Dean was a moaning, shivering wreck, then he pushed his tongue inside him with that finger and Dean’s mind went momentarily blank.

He cried out and clutched at the bedcovers, pulling them up to his face to muffle the sounds he was making. Sam twisted his finger and withdrew it until only the tip remained, his tongue sliding inside to take its place. On some level Dean knew that it was still disgusting, but he couldn’t concentrate too much on that because what Sam was doing to him felt fucking amazing. Little licks, light swipes of his tongue, then that slick, probing muscle sliding back inside him to tease at him. _Almost_ touching things inside him that he knew would make him explode or die if Sam’s tongue was just one centimeter longer.

Dean didn’t realize he was rocking back against Sam’s face until Sam grabbed his hip and stopped him. Dean made a low sound, humiliatingly close to a whine, and made himself be still as Sam licked along the crack of his ass, then pressed his mouth there and _sucked_.

“God, Sammy, please,” Dean panted. He tossed his head to one side, trying to see Sam over his shoulder, but he couldn’t. He rocked back against Sam, more to get his attention than anything, and Sam finally lifted his head.

He nipped Dean’s left ass cheek, then without any warning, grabbed Dean around the waist and flipped him onto his back. Dean scrambled at the covers, then grabbed Sam to steady himself, and somehow ended up with one knee shoved up almost to his chest and Sam already moving between his legs, two fingers being thrust inside him to stretch him open.

Dean arched off the bed with a cry and reached out to grab something, anything to hold onto. His fingers ended up tangled in Sam’s hair. Sam didn’t seem to mind, though, because he tipped his head back, forcing Dean to pull it hard enough that it had to hurt. Dean let go and his hand came away with a web of Sam’s mink brown hairs threaded between his fingers.

“Sam,” Dean hissed. Sam spread his fingers open, then added a third one and leaned in against Dean, thrusting them as he worked them open. Dean bucked against him and grabbed at him, his short nails raking lightly down Sam’s back. “Sam, _please_. I know you’ve got this whole… need to show me whose boss _thing_ going on right now… but, man, slow _down_.”

Sam looked down at him and their eyes met and held. Sam’s were the same, still his eyes, even in the dark their color was a mixture of grey and gold that in the right light could look almost green. But there was an intensity to his gaze that Dean hadn’t seen in a while, and the last time he’d seen it, they hadn’t been in bed.

Sam reached over him and grabbed Dean’s cigarettes and lighter off the nightstand again. He didn’t withdraw his fingers from inside Dean’s body, just gentled them until he was stroking them inside him as he fumbled with his other hand for a cigarette. He put it in his mouth, then lit it and exhaled directly into Dean’s face.

“What the… fuck are you doing now?” Dean said. Sam’s fingers slid briefly over his prostate and Dean’s stomach tightened, the muscles lightly fluttering as they contracted.

Sam took the cigarette from his mouth and held it, resting his wrist on one knee as he looked down at Dean. He watched, eyes at an aroused half-mast, as he slid his fingers slowly in and out of Dean’s ass. A fingertip brushed over something and Dean tensed, breath hitching, and his ass tightened around Sam’s fingertips.

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean insisted. It was both confused and pleading and Sam’s lips quirked in response.

“You wanted me to slow down,” he reminded Dean. “I’m slowing down.” Sam breathed out a soft laugh and shook his head a little, then leaned over Dean and ran his tongue over his mouth as he twisted his fingers inside him. “I can do this _all night_ if that’s what you want.”

He knew it was intended as a kind of threat--hell, it _sounded_ like a threat--but the way the words slid like velvet over his mouth made Dean shiver with a kind of carnal anticipation. There was fear there, too. Sam could be one crazy motherfucker when he wanted to be. But trust was supposed to be the name of this game, wasn’t it? Dean didn’t trust Sam all the way down to the bone anymore, but he _did_ trust him like this. Sam might hurt him like this, but only with his consent. He _trusted_ that.

“I mean… with that?” Dean said, tipping his head toward where Sam had his wrist resting on his knee, cigarette held between his first two fingers.

“I was thinking how really _uneven_ the number one is,” Sam said. “I was thinking…” He put the cigarette back in his mouth, took a deep drag and held it as he leaned over.

When he pressed his mouth to Dean’s, pushed against his teeth with his tongue, Dean opened for him and tasted the burning rush of smoke on his tongue before it slid down his throat and choked him. Dean’s breath hitched and his chest jerked, the smoke painfully scalding as it was forced from Sam’s lungs into his own. Dean’s heart raced with the instinctive fear that came from having his breath cut off, then he made himself be calm and exhaled it out through his nose.

Sam sat back with a pleased smile and Dean panted, dragging untainted air into his lungs to soothe away the burn. “I was thinking… you should let me make it two.”

“Two what?” Dean managed. Sam’s fingers stroked over his prostate again and soft pleasure, like a hollow ache, swelled up inside him again. “God, Sammy, can’t you just… put that out. Put that out and fuck me, _please_.”

Sam grinned and lowered his hand with the cigarette in it to roll the ember along Dean’s lower belly. It was light, the briefest touch of heat with very little burn, but Dean’s body tensed in anticipation of pain. Sam took it away, though, and regarded Dean with patient, waiting eyes.

“What?” Dean said, his voice cracking on the single word from the burn of the smoke.

“Let me,” Sam said. He turned the cigarette in his hand, drawing Dean’s eyes to it. “Just one more,” Sam said. “Then I’ll fuck you.”

“Bribery now, I see how it is,” Dean said, but the joke fell flat.

Sam ducked his head and nipped the inner thigh of Dean’s bent leg. “I could always stop,” he said. He slid his fingers slowly in and out of Dean’s body, felt him tighten, and grinned. “Just… go back to my own bed and let you sleep. No big deal.”

Dean choked and reached for him, his fingers sliding through Sam’s hair but not gripping. “No big _deal_?” he repeated.

Sam shrugged. “Whatever you want, Dean.”

“What _I_ want…” Dean stopped. He shoved Sam’s shoulder with his knee to get his attention. “Sammy, come here.”

Sam lifted his head and stared up at Dean for a full minute, then he withdrew his hand from his body and crawled up the bed, laying over him. He nuzzled Dean’s jaw, below his ear, over to his mouth. “Will you love me?” he murmured against Dean’s lips. “If I take this cigarette and put it out on you, will you love me?”

“Of course I will,” Dean mumbled back, turning his head to catch Sam’s mouth and kiss him as he was licking him again.

Dean wasn’t 100% sure what all of this was about, but whatever it was, Sam seemed to need it. Whatever Sammy wants--whatever Sammy _needs_ \--Dean never could tell him no. Hell, it was how he found himself in bed with Sam that first time, all those years ago.

The kiss tugged at something low in Sam’s belly and he swayed against Dean, pressing himself against him. He remembered the cigarette in his hand just in time to keep from burning Dean’s face as he reached up to touch his cheek. He broke his mouth away, panting, and looked at it, considering the tip, which was almost burnt down to the filter.

Dean looked at it with him and a combined thrill of desire and fear slipped through him. He exchanged a look with Sam, watched the intent grow in Sam’s eyes, and tried to relax as Sam lowered his hand, reaching back to feel down Dean’s side with his thumb until he found the place he was seeking. The little rise of soft flesh over Dean’s left hip.

There was heat, but no pain at all for so long that Dean started to relax, absurdly thinking that was it. That maybe there wouldn’t be anything else, or else the cigarette had gone out on its own and Sam just didn’t feel like lighting another one. Then Sam crushed it into his flesh, pressing it deep against the hipbone and grinding. There was a hiss of fire going out in the moisture of his skin, but Dean barely heard it. His mind was brilliant with pain. He wrapped himself around Sam, clutching at his back, clamping his legs around his waist, pressing his face into the curve of his shoulder so that when he screamed--because he was screaming, there was no getting around it this time--it was muffled.

It was as Dean was still coming down from the shock of the burn that Sam entered him. One quick, hard thrust and he was inside, Dean’s muscles tensing, making his ass tighten around Sam’s cock as he pushed past that initial contraction. Dean cried out and lifted his hips, relaxing his body and moving into Sam’s rough thrusts to ease some of his body’s resistance.

Sam slid his fingers up the back of Dean’s neck, into his hair to pull his head back. Dean arched into his hands and with a low, possessive growl, Sam licked up his throat to lightly bite at the underside of his chin. Dean just reached out for him and pulled Sam’s head down, shocks of pleasure mingling with little thrills of fear at Sam’s strange behavior, all of it pushing him hard and fast toward orgasm.

Sam hefted Dean’s weight, shoving him up the bed, and the fresh, wet burn on the back of his hip stuck to the sheet. Sam snapped his hips against Dean’s ass, his cock moving more smoothly within him as precome mixed with Sam’s saliva. Pain swelled in the pit of Dean’s stomach beside his pleasure until there was no dividing the two and Sam didn’t seem to mind at all. He was as pleased by Dean’s pleasured moans as he was by his whimpers of pain.

When he reached down to grasp Dean’s hip and tilt him up, changing the angle of his penetration to a depth and fullness that was nearly agonizing, Sam deliberately dug his thumb into the second burn. Dean’s back bowed and his stomach slammed against Sam’s, an intensity of sensation breaking through him like snapping glass.

“Come for me,” Sam whispered, nipping and sucking lightly at Dean’s mouth as he spoke. “Just like that, Dean. Come for me just… like… that.”

He ground his thumbnail into the burn, felt sticky wetness run down into his palm, and then Dean was coming. He raked his nails down Sam’s back as his orgasm beat him to pieces and he bit Sam’s shoulder, either to muffle his noises or to punish Sam for it, Sam wasn’t sure.

It hardly mattered.

Sam hunched over him and threw his weight behind his thrusts as he fucked Dean roughly through it. Dean moaned and made sharp, startled sounds that were almost screams. Sounds like Sam was ripping them out of him by force. Sam watched him through it, the only light in the darkness coming from the television, painting it all in brutal relief, and he was so beautiful that Sam’s fingers itched to break him. To tear Dean open and wrap himself in him, maybe hold onto some of that beauty for later.

But of course he didn’t. He could never do such a thing. That was where love drew the line that desire would not cross over.

As soon as that thought flickered through his mind, Sam said it. He whispered, “I love you,” into the sweaty hair by Dean’s temple.

Dean shuddered and ran his hands down Sam’s back, a strangely soothing, calming gesture under the circumstances. It was loving and endearing, and pleasure trailed Dean’s fingers down Sam’s back to the base of his spine before it branched out. Then it was like those little fingers of pleasure were gasoline and Dean had struck a match. Sam came with a shout that went unmuffled into the room, his orgasm spurring him on faster, harder until it seemed to seep out of his body like smoke.

Dean grunted softly when Sam slumped against him, his weight pushing him into the mattress. He petted Sam’s sweat-damp back with lazy circular movements of his hands and they both lay there panting, listening to the Jet-Dry commercial on the TV. Then Dean started to laugh.

Sam lifted his head and blinked down at him. “What?” he said.

“Nothing,” Dean said, shaking his head. “But man, you are so lucky we’re not on any kind of active hunt right now, because I’m not moving for a week.”

Sam nuzzled the side of Dean’s neck and licked his sweat. “That a promise?” he murmured.

“No,” Dean said.

Dean shoved Sam’s shoulder to get him to roll over. Sam shifted his hips, pulling out of him, and flopped onto his back with a huff. He watched and admired as Dean got up and leaned over him, arm stretched out toward the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“Nothing,” Dean said. He sat back and there was a flick of flint and a brief flare in front of his face as he lit a cigarette. “You don’t get to have this one,” he said, tone almost scolding.

Sam snickered and closed his eyes.

  
**XXX**   



End file.
